Someone to Live For
by StellaPen
Summary: Roger's been gone for a year after Mimi's near death, leaving Mark alone and depressed. No one knows where Mimi is, and when Roger randomly shows up one night, he faces the truth with anger and pain. MarkRoger slash.
1. How Did We Get Here?

A/N: I love RENT. Obviously. Why else would I be writing this? And I know this basic plotline has been done in nearly every Mark/Roger fic out there, but I think I can make it original. I think this is going to turn into slash by the end. So if you don't like that, get out now.  
  
Disclaimer: The late Jonathan Larson owns them all - the characters, the original story (I own this one!), the songs, all of it.  
  
Rating: PG-13, because, well, it's RENT.  
  
~  
  
"December 24, 11 PM, Eastern Standard Time. One year and one hour since the last time I said that. Everyone was just here.they're gone now. We had a Christmas Party, or something, whatever it's called when you hold a party on Christmas Eve with a bunch of people who believe in no particular religion."  
  
Mark paused his dialogue for a moment. He'd often wondered what he himself believed. He was raised to be religious - half Jewish and half Christian actually - but by this point in his life he had no idea. So he figured he just believed in nothing until he found something that could remain certain for a long period of time. Mark was careful not to trust anything, as he had learned that nothing ever lasts.  
  
"Zoom in on the empty champagne glasses. Of course no one cleaned up after themselves."  
  
Mark smiled at this. The apartment was more of a mess than it had been recently, yet he knew he wouldn't clean it up. What did it matter? No one would be there with him to impress. His smile faded at this thought.  
  
"Maureen and Joanne seemed pretty happy. They're better off than they used to be. I think they survive on arguing. Or on bossing each other around. Benny actually showed up to give us the latest on Allison. Long, complicated story. Collins was here and still coping well. Hasn't found anyone new, but he's better off than.well, he's happy."  
  
Mark shut off his camera. He had gone too far. He had vowed long ago that he would never let himself record his darkest secrets. He didn't want anyone else to find them and realize that he wasn't as happy as he pretended to be. Mark was a wonderful actor. He often wondered what it would be like to be in front of the camera instead of behind it.  
  
But that was a view on life Mark didn't want to take. He highly preferred the position of observer, where he could remain safely uninvolved, never to be truly hurt if something went wrong.  
  
"That's a lie", that voice told him. That annoying voice in his head that never, ever shut up. Mark often wondered if the past few years had slowly driven him insane. He knew perfectly well that hearing voices was never a good thing, but those voices were always right. They were always some part of Mark that he didn't want to admit to, couldn't admit to. They were the painful part that he hid from everyone else.  
  
Mark took the film out of his camera. It was used up now, ready to join the collection of other old memories on the shelf that barely got watched. He stopped as he was about to pull his hand away, instead running it sadly over an old tape.  
  
"Your Eyes", it was labeled, in Mark's scratchy handwriting.  
  
Roger hadn't even known Mark had filmed that. The musician was so wrapped up in his own grief that he hadn't noticed the camera only a short distance from him. He hadn't noticed the churning in Mark's stomach when that song hit too close to home. And he had taken it for granted when Mark pulled himself together enough to thank whatever God there was that this moment wasn't the last.  
  
Mark had watched that video for about a month after Roger left again. He was going to show Mimi, with some crazy idea that it wouldn't break her heart, but no one knew where she was. When Roger had excluded himself, he had driven away.  
  
But Mark knew that song, the last song he had heard by Roger, would always mean something completely different to him than to Mimi. Because with Mark, Roger couldn't look into Mark's eyes when they said their goodbyes. Yet he somehow found the nerve to yell at him and accuse him of horrible things. Not to mention the borderline physical abuse that went along with it.  
  
But Mark took it all coolly. He just stood there and let Roger yell at him, let the musician vent his anger, because he knew if he didn't take this, someone else would be the victim later. So Roger had left, leaving behind nothing but stinging words and unspoken thoughts.  
  
Mark sat by the tiny window, trying to think. Or to remember, more precisely. He wanted to remember the way it had been, when he and Roger had been inseparable. They had been best friends. That was what Mark needed more than ever right now. A best friend. But he hated that feeling of helplessness, so instead of letting himself be helped, he closed himself up, lying to the world. He stared at the moon, restless inside, but ready to give up to another lonely night.  
  
"How did I get here, how the hell?"  
  
Mark's solemn reverie was broken by a sudden ringing. The phone. Mark didn't move. He hadn't actually picked up the phone in a long time. He always let the machine get it, not caring enough to speak for himself.  
  
"SPEAK!" he and Roger yelled simultaneously.  
  
There were a few seconds of silence as Mark wearily waited. But as the person on the other end began to speak, he didn't recognize the voice at first.  
  
"Umm.Mark? It's me. I know we haven't talked in awhile and all but.I just wanted to say 'hey'."  
  
Mark froze. He knew that voice now. But it had changed. It was deeper, more tired sounding. He felt his heart skip a beat as he held deadly still waiting for Roger to continue.  
  
".Umm, I know this is pretty sudden and all, but I've had a break in work.well, who am I kidding, they fired me, so I'm coming back. I should be there pretty early tomorrow morning. Tell Mimi I'll see her first thing. Bye."  
  
There was a decisive click and then the silence kicked in again. Early tomorrow morning.that was only a few hours. He must have left San Francisco awhile ago then, thought Mark. Mark also realized he didn't have much choice in the matter, or any time to prepare. Roger was already on his way back, with no prior warning.  
  
Wait a minute, what the hell am I thinking? Haven't I wanted this? But Mark realized he didn't. He didn't want Roger back, not if Roger was going to assume it was perfectly okay to come back whenever he pleased. Mark hadn't been doing necessarily well, but he'd been better off than at times in the presence of the musician.  
  
Tell Mimi I'll see her first thing. Oh God - Roger didn't know. Roger didn't even know that no one had any clue where Mimi was. Or even if she was still alive. For all Mark knew she could be dead by now, the same way as Angel. But Angel didn't have to die alone. Mark noticed how Roger didn't have any similar words for him. No "I'll see you first thing", or "I can't wait to see you." Nothing. Just as he had left it.  
  
Well, Mark would just have to tell him then. Tell him the horrible truth about Mimi and that he couldn't stay. Roger couldn't stay if he didn't understand.  
  
Mark hated himself for that thought. But he knew it was what had to be done.  
  
~  
  
Mark awoke in the middle of the night to something heavy shaking him. He scrambled for his glasses but it was too dark to see anyway. Whatever it was was pressing on his shoulders very hard, and being really loud. Mark was finally able to groan, "Who's there?"  
  
"Geez Cohen, you don't even know me anymore? I'm home," the musician laughed.  
  
"Roger." Mark moaned incoherently. Roger was being overly loud and was too in his face for this hour. Not to mention the fact that now Mark's eyes had focused, and he could see large amounts of what he assumed to be Roger's luggage strewn across the floor. Roger leaned in again, and Mark could smell alcohol on his breath. The musician was clearly completely drunk.  
  
"Roger.ouch, you're hurting my shoulder," Mark whispered. Roger was no fun to deal with when drunk.  
  
"Thanks for the warm welcome, Mark," the musician growled angrily, before throwing himself down on the bed next to Mark and falling right asleep.  
  
Mark sighed. He was not looking forward to tomorrow morning. He would have to tell Roger the truth, tell him how much pain he had caused. And it would be the film maker suffering from the consequences. 


	2. Cause I'd Die Without You

**A/N:  **Sorry about the horrible formatting in the last chapter.  I don't know what happened.  Whenever I had "…" it turned into just a single period, leaving a whole lot of sentences looking really weird.  And, all my italics disappeared.  So in this chapter, thoughts are in "*".

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own Mark, Roger, the rest of the characters, any of the songs, basically anything from RENT.  Jonathan Larson and whoever inherited it from him does.  And since someone asked…the title "Someone To Live For" comes from "Goodbye Love", that line that Mimi and Joanne sing, "I'd be happy to die for a taste of what Angel had, someone to live for, unafraid to say I love you!" 

**Warning:  **Will be Mark/Roger slash later on.  If you don't like slash that little button with an 'x' in the top right corner is for you.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

**Rating:  **PG-13 for some language, violence, angst, and sexual implications.

Mark awoke to a cold bed and a chilling breeze coming in the open window.  It was snowing outside.  No wonder he was freezing.  The tattered blankets had been pulled off him and were left carelessly on the floor.  That reminded him.  He had a visitor.  A visitor who technically never stopped living here, and had just left Mark with the rent and never said if he was moving back in or not.  Still, Mark considered Roger only a visitor.  Perhaps that was all he had ever been.  Someone who would drop by occasionally and talk, but never do anything substantial or lasting.  

            *Oh God…shit*, Mark thought.  He remembered what he had to tell Roger.  He had to tell him to get out.  He couldn't be here, not now, he couldn't ruin everything.  Mark couldn't let himself be ruined all over again.  He had been so close to being under control and he would NOT just allow that to be taken away by a drunk, abusive roommate.

            A drunk, abusive roommate who Mark secretly cared about more than anyone in the world.  But of course, Roger didn't know this.  Not anymore.  Mark had shown him that care a long time ago, back when he'd received it in return.  And he was still very kind to the musician, but he just figured, what was the point of putting in the extra effort if he was getting nothing in return?

            "You'd still watch out for him", sneered that voice again.  Who was talking?  Mark looked around him frantically, desperate to find a face to put to the voice.  But no one was there.  It was all in his head.  He clasped his hands over his ears hoping to drive the voice out of him, but it never worked.  Mark had been talking to himself for quite sometime, since there was no one else to talk to.  This solitude had been slowly driving him insane.

            *And towards much more depressing thoughts* he added to himself grimly.  But Mark would not allow himself to dwell there right now.  He had a job to do.  He had no idea how in the hell he was going to do it, but he was going to try nonetheless.  So he timidly pushed open the bedroom door.  "Roger?" he asked meekly.

            Roger glanced up from the cereal he was pouring.  "Hey," he said, obviously trying hard to keep his face emotionless.  

            "Umm…sleep well?" asked Mark cautiously.

            Roger just nodded.  They sat there in silence for several moments, both trying to become accustomed to the other's presence again.  Mark was simply remembering when he had been perfectly comfortable next to Roger, and talking wasn't needed.  But now he feared more than anything that talking only exposed secrets that no one should know.

            Roger spoke suddenly, his voice a bit harsh from what was an obvious hangover.  "Where's Mimi?"

            Mark sighed.  He should have known that was coming.  *Of course, thinking of myself again*.  Mark hated when he thought of himself before everyone else.  He felt so arrogant.  Perhaps that was why he remained behind the camera, instead of in front of it.  Something which Roger had criticized him quite painfully for.  Mark buried his face in his hands, pushing scraggly blond hair out of his eyes and trying to decide how to begin the story of the past few years.  Or if he should even tell it.

            "Roger…I don't know what to tell you.  Nothing with make you happy.  Mimi's gone.  She's gone, Roger, we haven't seen her since you left."

            Roger stared at him, confusion growing in his eyes.  "She…she didn't say where she was going?"

            Mark meekly shook his head.  "She just said she was going out for awhile, but she never came back.  I'm sorry Roger, but I don't think you should get your hopes up.  Remember…she told us, she said she'd die without you…"

            Roger's confusion quickly turned to anger.  The musician had always been known for unpredictable and often violent mood swings.  Mark gulped and tensed.  "So you are saying she's dead?" Roger growled.

            "I'm just…suggesting…she might be.  She needed you and you just…you just left.  So she left too.  Only for good."  Mark reflected on the irony of those words.  Roger had left him too.  And sinking deeper into what became a cold and lonely life, Mark had been dangerously close to leaving for good as well.

            "What the hell, Mark?" Roger nearly shouted.  "I come back and the first thing you do is try to tell me my girlfriend's dead?  I've got news for you, Mark.  Love doesn't kill you.  Weakness kills you.  Mimi isn't weak.  I am not –"

            Roger stopped and stood up suddenly, pacing over to the dirty window.  But Mark knew what he had been about to say.  'I am not weak.'  *Oh God…AIDS is getting to him.*  Mark wanted more than anything to just hold Roger and tell him that he would be there for him through this, that he could survive.  But it wasn't true.  Roger wouldn't let Mark be there, and AIDS victims didn't survive.  

            Mark sighed and stood to follow Roger.  But as he gently tapped the musician on his back, all he received in return was an angry snarl.  "Get away from me, Mark."

            Mark just stood where he was.  It was now or never.  It was now or never that he finally held his ground and confronted his problems with Roger.  So he swallowed his fear and began.  "Roger, Mimi left because she was alone.  When you walked away from her…you don't know what that's like. You'll never know what that's like until you watch someone you love walk away from you.  But you never will, will you?  Because you won't let yourself get close enough to anyone to ever see their pain.  Only your own."

            Mark faltered for a moment.  Roger had turned around and was glaring icily at him.  

            "Look, I'm just saying, you have to stop running from your problems and hiding from your emotions.  I would know, I…well, the last year has been hard, Roger.  You hurt a lot of people by leaving, not just Mimi.  But she took it worst of all.  You said love can't kill you.  Well, loneliness can."

            Roger simply stared back at Mark for several moments.  The filmmaker had never had this much courage to stand up to anyone.  He usually just watched as other people yelled at him, gently complying, never standing up for himself.  But Roger wasn't ready to believe what Mark had to say.  He wasn't ready to believe a lot of things.  

            "Dammit, Mark, what are you trying to say?  That you can't survive without me and that I will always have to be here to watch out for you?  Well, that's too bad.  Too bad that you can't damn well take care of yourself, because I have my own life, however screwed up it is.  Oh, and another thing, loneliness doesn't kill.  Loneliness can't kill.  Angel died with Collins.  Or maybe you've forgotten.  Ahh, yes, you were still living behind your pathetic camera, weren't you?  So how could you really see what was going on in front of it?  Lenses only jade you, Mark."  Roger finished this in a near yell, and Mark fought hard to keep his fear from showing.

            "Angel…Angel died when he was ready.  He…he was happy.  That's so much better to dying alone and cold, but…you'll never know.  You…you won't…"

            Roger snickered, presumably at Mark's inability to get words out through what were surely barely retained tears.   Then, in another amazing display of shifting moods, the musician simply grabbed his coat and headed for the door.  "I'm going out.  Don't wait for me."

            Mark waited until he heard the door slam, then curled up on the sofa and cried.  


End file.
